


The Assassin Named Brooklyn

by WhoAllowedThat



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 22:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20713814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoAllowedThat/pseuds/WhoAllowedThat
Summary: Brooklyn is your average 24 year old woman living in New York. She has a love of wine and bubble baths but the only difference is that she kills people for a living. After killing her boyfriend three years ago she was offered a job by The Boss. Years later she is grouped together with five other assassins to kill one of the most powerful men in the world. Can she and her newfound teammates complete their mission or will her newfound attraction to one of them get in the way?





	The Assassin Named Brooklyn

"Tiger...fuck," He says as his eyes trails my body. "You look amazing."

Stripping off my long black trench coat in front of him. I unveil my bright red Merryweather lingerie that matches my tall red heels.

"I heard red is your favorite color," I say seductively in an Italian accent. 

God, just a little longer and then I can go back home and relax in my bed. My feet are killing me in these heels. My boobs are barely covered and it's really cold in this hotel room.

I hate it when I have to dress like a prostitute. It's uncomfortable and the men are always a bunch of creeps. 

I slowly walk towards him while he's sitting in his throne-like chair only in his underwear. My hips swaying with every step I take. 

He licks his lips staring at me from head to toe. I can tell just by his face alone that he's turned on. But his huge belly covers his penis from my field of view. 

My newest target, Rodrigo Moreno Ferrari. One of the most renowned drug lords in Italy. He owns about fifteen percent of the world's cocaine business. If he died the distribution of cocaine would decrease significantly for a while that is.

His business is just going to be taken over by someone else, most likely by one of his sons tomorrow. But the bossman said the client only cares about him. So, it's most likely his own family that's trying to kill him. So much for the family being number one. The things people do for power.

It doesn't matter to me. I'm only here for a job.

He was a little bit more difficult than my usual jobs. It took me weeks to get him alone. I usually get a location from the boss man and I just kill them.

Quick, easy and straight to the point. But once in the blue moon, I get jobs where I have to do more work. Those jobs suck but the payoff is worth it.

This guy's life is worth one hundred thousand dollars. 

For this particular job, I had to disguise myself as a prostitute so he would even give me the time of day. After stalking him for a while, I learned he has a love of prostitutes. 

Redheads in particular, which explains the ginger wig I brought and the lingerie. Every night he's in a new strip club looking for his next prey. 

Women all flock towards him so they can have his next illegitimate child and a large check every month. These men are all the same no matter if they married or not. They can never resist a beautiful woman. 

The fat fuck breathes heavily causing the room to smell foul. Has he never heard of a breath mint before? "What do you want me to do to you baby," I say. My arms go around his sweat covered neck and I straddle his lap.

"I want you to make me feel good." Lifting myself up from his lap, I dig into my nearby bag. I should really clean this thing. Why are there so many papers here?

Should I use a knife or poison? If I use poison it'll make it seem like he just had a heart attack. By the looks of his weight. A heart attack wouldn't be far off for him. Poison would be better, no question about it. Pulling out a pair of handcuffs, now this would make everything a lot easier.

Twirling the handcuffs in my hands and sporting a seductive smile. "Oh, your gonna feel so good." The fucker promised me a thousand U.S dollars for one night but I'm getting paid a hundred times that for this job.

Pulling his arms behind his back and cuffing them. Well, this is becoming too easy. I think if you're a drug lord, you shouldn't let a random woman lock you in handcuffs or even bring a bag into the room without getting it checked.

What if she turned out to be an assassin?

"Do you wanna know why they call me Tiger?"

"Why," he asks.

"Guess"

"Because of your hair."

Shaking my head reaching for my needle, his eyes are only focused on my own. Straddling his legs, my breast touching his chin. "No, guess again."

"Because you're so fierce?"

"No," I say whispering in his ears dropping my Italian accent. "Because Tigers always catch their prey." Stabbing him in the neck with the syringe.

"What did you do! Who sent you?" He screams, I lifting myself off of him ignoring his screams. 

"I can't tell you that Rodrigo."

I truly do not know, I just get the contract from The Boss and money is in my bank account after I finish. 

He relaxes in his chair, why is he so calm? He's about to die in less than a minute. My targets are usually screaming for help until they draw their last breath. 

"Your taking this well," I say rather amused. "Why are you so calm?"

"Why?" he laughs. "Because I know when I've lost." He begins to ramble on as I put my trenchcoat back on. "I should have listened to my wife. She told me to retire and leave the whores and the drugs alone. You know," he says laughing. "She told me to stay in bed today because she had a bad feeling. Now, look at me. I'm about to die handcuffed to a fucking chair in my underwear."

"Well, you should have listened to your wife. Never question a women's institution. You might have lived another day."

"Yeah, your right. But before I die I wanna tell you something."

"What," I ask curiously.

"You're going to die. Someone will avenge me. Maybe not tonight or tomorrow bu-"Rodrigo starts to shake uncontrollably and his eyes roll in the back of his head. Well there he goes, the poison finally starting to kick in.

He's not the first one to tell me that, I was supposed to die a long time ago if that was true. But it seems like no one gave him the memo. People don't care about you after you die. Revenge means nothing, it's just unnecessary bloodshed. It's not going to bring anyone back and it only feels the void for a while. But the despair is still there.

Rodrigo finally stops shaking and his body goes limp. My job is done, looking around I pick up my trenchcoat and syringe.

Looking at his dead body, smiling to myself. My dear baby Aconite, it always does the trick. Quick and easy, my love of distilled poisons has made my jobs a lot easier. Especially with clean-up, it makes it look like he just had a heart attack.

Closing my trenchcoat and placing the syringe back in my bag. Now, I just need to call the police.

Looking around the luxurious hotel. Man, these drug lords don't mind spending a wad of cash for a hotel. It looks amazing in here. 

There has to be a phone here somewhere. I walk through the enormous room I finally find a nearby phone, I dial 113.

"Servizi di emergenza, come posso aiutarti?" (Emergency services, how can I help you?)

"Aiuto! Aiuto! Non respira," I scream. (Help! Help! He's not breathing.)

"Dove sei?" (Where are you?)

"Hotel Don Pierre, suite presidenziale. Per favore sbrigati!" (Don Pierre Hotel, presidential suite. Please hurry!)

Okay, the target's dead and they'll write it off as a heart attack. I better leave before the cops come.

Adjusting my wig, I quickly leave the hotel.

The cool night air causes me to shiver. I'm so cold, next time I'm packing actual clothes. It sucks when I have to walk back in lingerie and a fucking trenchcoat. 

Thank God I can finally go back home tomorrow. I'm taking a week-long break, I don't care how much money he offers me. I need a vacation.

Hailing a taxi, they take me to my hotel that's only a few minutes away. I could have walked but not in these heels.

Smiling to the bellhop, "Buonasera" (Good Evening) I say.

His pale skin turns red when he sees me. He's kinda cute and I need a stress reliever. It has been a while. "Lei parla inglese?" (Do you speak English?) He nods his head quickly. "How long before your shift ends?"

The bellhop looks at his watch. "Five minutes," he says. Smirking to myself, five minutes won't make a real difference. I grab his hand and lead him towards the elevator. "Where are you taking me?" Tapping my foot waiting for the elevator to open. Come on, I don't have all day.

The elevator finally opens and I push the bellhop against the wall. He looks at me scared and confused. Clicking my floor number, I turn towards him and I attack his lips. He looks at me and his eyes quickly turn from shock to lust.

Shutting his eyes, he follows the movement of my lips, letting me take full control. I need to be in control.

He reaches for my ass and squeezes lightly causing me to moan. Running my hands feverishly through his hair, the elevator opens to my floor. Grabbing his hand snapping him out of his dazed state, I walk no run to my room.

I need this, I want this release. 

Turning to open the door, he licks on my neck slowly. The door finally opens turning to the bellhop continuing to kiss him leading him to my bed. Dropping my trenchcoat on the way in.

Pushing him on the bed, I straddle his lap and attack his neck. His hands cup my ass as he moans spouting a bunch of Italian curse words. 

Leaving a fever of kisses on his body. Starting at his neck, I rip his shirt open. Kissing his chest all the way down until I get to the buckle of his pants.

Unbuckling his pants, the bellhop stops me. Our heavy breathes and the passing cars are the only thing that can be heard. " I don't even know your name," he says tucking a strand of my brown hair behind my ear. 

I must have dropped my wig somewhere on the way in. 

Leaning down and kissing him on the lips. "My name is Brooklyn." Our kiss deepens and his pants are off.


End file.
